


RIP Jack Daniels, I hardly knew ye.

by gorbell



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, How They Met, as done as it's gonna get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorbell/pseuds/gorbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My debut fic on AO3. Just a short 'how they met' AU fic that was inspired when I heard a growl in real life and let my imagination run away with me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	RIP Jack Daniels, I hardly knew ye.

ROGUE:  
I’ve had a fuck of a day. After an interminable drive through shitty traffic and a crappy dinner at a chain restaurant, all I want is a soak in the bath and the bottle of whiskey poking out of the top of my overnight bag. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let some old codger charge me double just because I sound like an out of towner, though. That’s why I’m standing here at the checkout desk of a small motel arguing over $15 with a grumpy old man who looks like it’s the best time he’s had all day.

“Listen, sugar, I’ve been here plenty of times before,” three times counts as plenty, I tell myself. “And I’ve never paid $75 for a single. That cable you’re charging for doesn’t even work in half of the rooms, and that pool doesn’t have a single drop of water in it that wasn’t put there by the weather.” There’s someone in line behind me and I’ve been raising a stink for a good ten minutes now. If the old guy knows what’s good for him, he’ll take my offer before they find somewhere else to sleep tonight.

“That might be true Ma’am,” He says placidly, and I think about the comedy skit I heard long ago about how ma’am actually means bitch in the service industry. “And it might not. What I do know is that right now a single will cost you $75 and a double $90. Which will it be?”

I open my mouth to to respond when I hear it come from behind me, closer than I expected. A single, low growl. Ho. Lee. Fuck. That sound shoots straight through me with a final destination in my pants, pit stop in my stomach according to the flutters in it. I close my mouth again to avoid the dead fish look and attempt some semblance of composure. I notice as I flip my hair behind my shoulders that my ass has somehow managed to stick itself backward, and correct my posture. This is so not worth it.

“I’ll take a single.” I shove the money forward, barely staying long enough to grab the key from the twinkle-eyed desk clerk. I have to stop and take a few steps backward for my pack, and take the opportunity to glare some daggers at the old fart. Yep, eyes still twinkling. Asshole. This time as I walk away I manage to get 5 feet before he calls out, stopping me.

“Ma’am? Your room is that way.”

I stop and stand for a second. “Thanks,” I grind out. What a fuck of a day. I head in the opposite direction and finally, finally, I reach my room. A hot bath and some whiskey from the bottle never sounded so good.

 

WOLVERINE:  
What a fuck of a day. First, getting caught up at the border while they ran a “random” background check on my passport, then wading through the always terrible traffic in between the city and it’s bedroom communities, and now I have to wait behind some southern princess with entitlement issues? What, Daddy’s card have a limit? This isn’t a flea market, kid, it’s a motel. Either pay for your shit or find somewhere else to rest that sexy ass of yours.

I hear her open her mouth again and lose a little of my patience. A growl slips out, and suddenly reality shifts a few degrees along with the tilt of her back and the tone of her scent, which I can easily smell when she helpfully flips around that chestnut hair of hers. Mmm, now that’s a rarity. She smells like leather, frustration, and lust, but underneath it I can smell something good. Something I have no business with, that’s for damn sure.

When she speaks, it’s an octave higher than before. I wonder if she notices. It’s kinda cute how flustered she got with just one noise. It kinda makes me wonder - but no. I don’t have time for this shit. I watch her head in the right direction this time and get a chance to see her face. I can stare at her as she passes, since she’s so preoccupied with looking normal. She’s cute. Young. Innocent looking, which confirms what I smelled earlier. 

Too good for you, Bub. Move along.

I flop $75 on the counter when I get up there. “Here’s your key, son.” The old guy winks at me. I let go an amused snort. ‘Son.’ Right. I could be older than his grandfather for all I know. I check the room number and heft my bag, and get treated with the view of some southern ass retreating up the stairs when I reach them. Pretty nice as far as condolence prizes go. Southern sass and southern ass. The thought is amusing enough to almost break the passive facade of my face. She reaches her room and looks once the way she came. I’ve been caught ogling. I arch my eyebrow at her and her arching hers back does finally crack my face into a smile. I can see her struggling to hold hers back. She chickens out by entering her room and closing the door, and I can only think that it’s for the best.

Until I look down at my room key and see that it’s the one right next to hers.

And then suddenly, I’m considering the merits of gutting the old coot when I hear her talking to herself. Or rather, someone named Jack? I close my door as I hear her bath starting and try to squash the out of place jealousy I feel. I was tired, but I could use the distraction of a few rounds at the bar. Whiskey, pool or women, I won’t be picky.

There’s a break in the one sided conversation I’ve been ignoring as I hear the water stop next door. The squeaky sound of flesh slipping on porcelain precedes the thumping sound of flesh hitting it, but when I hear the sound of glass breaking I’m through the double doors separating us and halfway to her bathroom before I can register that I’ve moved. I suffer a brief thought for her companion Jack, but the only scent in the room is hers so I keep moving forward.

“What the fuck is going on?” I call out. Someone else might have called it a snarl, but since I seemed to be the only one present, I’m the only opinion that counts. The scene in the bathroom was far less sinister than I was afraid of, but still pretty serious. There was a broken bottle on the floor, whiskey covering a good third of the bathroom, and a very naked unconscious woman about a half inch away from drowning. The tangy smell of her blood spurred me into action when the sight of her glorious curves and dips had frozen me a moment before. I took off my jacket but started feeling pervy when I went for my flannel buttons - what if she woke up while I was undressing? So I left that all on and just opted to grab her by the knees and armpits.

I almost made it to the bed before I felt it. Pain, like I’ve never felt, and I’ve felt a lot of pain, trust me. I looked wonderingly down at the girl. My legs gave out. My last thought was that I shouldn’t collapse on her, I’d squash her. Stupid, when I had already realized that she was the one causing me the pain, but my instincts wanted to protect her. I think I manage to shove her away from me before darkness closes in.

 

ROGUE:

I wake up cold. The room is lit only by the light in coming through the bathroom door, and I’m fucking cold and I’m pretty sure my hair is a little wet. Did I pass out after my date with Jack Daniels? I don’t feel drunk, and I don’t feel hungover. I sit up. How did I manage to pass out on the floor?

Ok, that’s a man. That’s a man on my floor and - hooboy, I’m naked. Think, girl. Did you lure someone back for some sexy time while blackout drunk, and then things got out of hand? That doesn’t sound like me. New memories.. Ok, that’s my ass. This is familiar. Mr. Growl was checking out my ass, heard me talking to myself - greeeeat - heard me slip? Ohhhhhh. Boy. Rest in pieces, Jack, I hardly knew ye. Oh sugar, please be ok.

I manage to hoist the poor bastard up to the bed eventually. It wasn’t easy, and involved some clever maneuvering on my part. I clean up the bathroom as best I can with my own and some borrowed towels, since the door between our rooms is now semi-permanently open. Not much actual time passed before I could tell that he had slipped from ‘comatose’ to regular sleeping. Then, he clearly started having a nightmare. Well, waking him up will be my little way of saying, “Thanks for not letting me die naked in a motel bathroom, stranger!”

“Logan,” I hover by his head, debating on whether I should grab my gloves. Probably. “Logan!” I try one more time. That was a bad move.

That was a very bad move, because I just acquired a few new breathing holes, only, I don’t think my body is gonna get that memo. I look up from where I had been staring at my chest/his claws, and meet his rapidly clearing gaze.

 

WOLVERINE:  
“No. NO. HELP!” I stabbed her. I retracted my claws and grabbed her clothed arms. “HELP ME!” I cry, but it’s a weak sound and I doubt anyone who would help can hear it. I’m still staring into her confused eyes as I lay her on the bed and rip away her shirt to see the damage.

But it starts healing as soon as I do. The life taking puncture wounds knit themselves together before my eyes and I’m left staring at a very impressive, very uninjured set of tits. I’m about to reach down and grab one - just to check for injuries, you know - when her voice stops me.

“Wait, Sugar, that’s how we got into this mess!” I can hear a smile in her voice, and this has to be a dream, because its fucking surreal as fuck. I look in her eyes again and try to form a coherent thought. “Hi. I’m Rogue, but you can call me Marie.”


End file.
